Chapter 4
It finally came—the time to teach.
He had made his introduction yesterday. Today, it was time to prove to them that there was a reason why he was a teacher. The kids sat silently, waiting for him to begin. He could tell he'd made an impression.
The dislike was evident in their eyes. They wanted nothing to do with him. Naruto, sitting at the back, had his eyes fixed on Iruka like he was prey. A challenging prey—but prey nonetheless. And Naruto didn't seem ready to give up on him and seemed to be planning how to catch him.
"In my hands is a folder with your grades from last year," Iruka began. "At first glance, it looks normal. Some have done better in certain areas, while others have not. But there's one class everyone has done worse in, on average. History."
He scanned the room.
Half of them weren't even listening. The ones near the windows stared outside. A few kids with crushes stared at each other. And while Naruto was locked onto Iruka's gaze, Iruka would bet his month's salary that Naruto hadn't heard a word.
"I know why," Iruka said. "History is boring. Who cares what some old dudes did before you were even born, right?"
A few heads turned. That got their attention.
"If you weren't training to become a shinobi, I would agree. If I wanted to be a chef or a salesman, I wouldn't care about past wars that had nothing to do with me. But those wars—and the people who fought in them—have everything to do with you."
He let that sink in before continuing.
"I'm giving you all an assignment for next week."
"What?"
"No fair."
"You can't do this!"
The kids whined in unison—the typical response. Iruka waited, letting them get it out. Then, with one look, his cold eyes brought silence back to the room. No one wanted to be the next target of his verbal abuse.
"It's nothing too difficult," Iruka said. "I want each of you to write an essay. Why do you want to be a shinobi? What are your goals? Your dreams? What inspired you? A hero? An event? Please describe it as clearly as you can. It won't be graded, but if you don't do it... Well, the consequences will be dire."
Even though they didn't like it, they accepted their homework. Iruka decided that it was enough for the morning class. He wasn't heartless and could cut some slack for them. He was fully intending to use the carrot and stick method, which has proven many times to be effective.
"You're free to go. Go play or whatnot."
Like a gift from the heavens, the children fled the classroom, already muttering complaints about Iruka. That was what he wanted. This class, like every other, already had labels forming—the genius, the failure, the favorite, the loser.
Iruka didn't want them divided that way.
It's better that they all agree to hate him for now and work together until they can understand each other better, and how degrading that kind of label was to their friends.
"Shikamaru Nara, please stay for a moment."
The laziest kid in his class paused mid-step.
"Take a seat," Iruka said. "I have something to talk to you about."
"What is it?" Shikamaru asked, tone flat—not out of disrespect, but because he clearly just wanted to get this over with and find a nice spot to nap.
"These are your grades from last year. And this is from the year before." Iruka handed him a page with his academic profile. "Notice anything strange?"
"Looks average to me."
"Exactly," Iruka said. "Average across the board."
He tapped the paper.
"Calculating the class average, you end up with these exact grades, Shikamaru. That's no coincidence. It's actually hard to predict, especially with a genius like Sasuke raising the curve and someone like Naruto dragging it down. Yet somehow, before the tests are even taken, you've already figured it out—and scored accordingly."
"It could be just a coincidence."
"Do I look like a fool, Shikamaru?" Iruka asked. "I respect your intellect. Please respect mine. Don't worry, you're not in trouble—and I won't be telling your mother."
"Phew."
As sharp as he was, he was still a kid afraid of his mom.
"I don't care about grades," Iruka continued. "They're meaningless. What matters is learning. And to learn, you need a challenge. You don't have one. So, I'm giving you one."
"And if I don't want to?"
"I don't care."
Iruka's tone left no room for debate.
"And you'll want to do this. I won't bother you about your grades. I'll go easy on you in combat class. I won't care if you nap through theory lessons. In exchange, I want you to observe every teacher and staff member at this academy. Profile them. Learn everything you can. Please report back to me with weekly summaries. Deal?"
"Can I nap during your classes?"
"Only if I don't see it."
"Does this include you, too?"
"Yes. Everyone who works here."
Shikamaru stood. "I want Choji to have his snacks back."
Iruka blinked, then chuckled. "Daring, aren't we? How about this—he can eat anything he wants during lunch?"
"Deal."
Iruka could do the spying himself, but another pair of eyes didn't hurt. What he needed was a different perspective—and maybe a way to draw Shikamaru into the world of shinobi without forcing it. And it posed no danger to him. A perfect method to teach the ways of a shinobi.
If he were as sharp as Iruka thought, he'd soon realize how flawed the Academy truly was. And maybe—just maybe—he'd start wanting to do something about it. And by that time, he will be hooked and start learning earnestly.
…
Most teachers left the academy for lunch. The cafeteria couldn't compare to the restaurants or food vendors in the village, but it was cheap, healthy enough, and not bad in taste. Honestly, that was more than could be expected from overworked cooks feeding hundreds of kids every day.
"Mind if I sit here?" Iruka asked the history teacher, who had a quiet corner in the cafeteria.
"Of course not!"
The man was jovial, to say the least. He was a bit loud, but not in a bad way. He spoke with the intention to be direct and understood, not to be obnoxious.
"You're the new combat instructor, right? Iruka Umino."
"That's me."
"Daikoku Funeno. History."
Daikoku's handshake was too enthusiastic, but firm.
Iruka found him easygoing. His background check showed he was single and genuinely loved his work. A large man with brown hair and a goatee, Daikoku always wore a smile and had an immense passion for history.
"I hate to drop this on you so soon," Iruka said, "but I've assigned the class an essay about events and heroes that inspired them. During your classes, could you point some of the more clueless kids toward events or figures that are often overlooked?"
"Oh! What a fine idea," Daikoku beamed. "I'd love to. But… how should I put it?"
"You're restricted in what you can teach," Iruka said flatly. "I did some research about the goings-on of the Academy. I know what's going on."
The smile dimmed.
"Yeah. That's right. You might not know—being new—but some parents are... vocal. They don't want certain 'ideas' put in their children's heads. Over the years, I've been boxed in. Basic village history only. No talk about the internal strife during the founding. Nothing about the bloody alliances or what the early Hokage had to sacrifice. I can't even talk about the Warring States period in depth anymore."
"What? How are they supposed to learn from past mistakes if they don't even know what they were? What about the wars?"
"Oh, we're allowed to mention those—barely. But details? Context? Forget it. Nobody wants their kids to know what Konoha did when it was at its weakest. That's how they frame it. And it's hard to argue."
"One should not be judged by their weakest moments," Iruka said, "but by the strength they show when given a second chance."
"Hashirama Senju," Daikoku nodded. "Said it when he pushed for the Uchiha alliance. Though some think he meant it more about himself and the Senju clan. Shinobi history isn't pretty, and all sides have blood on their hands."
"That's why people need to learn history. Without context, the quote is hollow. While in reality, it has a lot of meaning for the current village. With time, it will be lost."
"Exactly," Daikoku said. "History doesn't need to be celebrated—but it shouldn't be sanitized, either. It should be understood. If we don't teach the ugly parts, how will anyone recognize the beauty that grew from them?"
"I'm glad I met someone who understands," Iruka replied. "Too bad most would rather forget than understand."
"What can we do, though? The majority of families have already decided otherwise. We are powerless to change anything and can only follow what others dictate to us to do."
"Alone? Nothing. But the village wasn't built by just one man either? You of all people should know what Konoha values most."
Daikoku smiled. "Teamwork."
"I knew I'd like you. How about dinner after school? A few drinks? To get to know each other better and continue our discussion."
Iruka left after that, lunch finished, and a combat class was waiting.
He got what he wanted. Daikoku was one of the good ones—still teaching out of love for it, even while restrained and put down by the system. From what Iruka could tell, the academy staff fell into three camps: those who pandered to the powerful families, those who kept their heads down and did their jobs, and people like Daikoku—those who hadn't given up on teaching and imparting valuable lessons to the future generations.
The academy's politics were more twisted than he expected. Sure, teacher drama was universal, but this was too much. He needed to find out how it had started. Why did it have to come to this? There had to be a reason, and he was sure to find it after more digging.
For now, though, he could only gather what few allies he could—those who still remembered the point of teaching. Those who still understood what it meant to prepare the next generation of shinobi.
He reached for his flask, paused, and sighed.
Probably not the best idea to drink in the Academy.
He hadn't meant for any of this to spiral out like this. All he wanted was to teach kids what he'd learned—the pain, the mistakes, the survival—and make sure they were strong enough to face the world. To face what Iruka knew was coming. Strong enough to change the fate that would plague the world.
Now?
He planned to root out corruption and take over the Academy. It was the only way to achieve his goals, and he couldn't leave it to anyone else. Or it would only repeat itself, and nothing he did would matter. Maybe this time he will be able to change things, prove himself that he wasn't a waste in this world, and he belongs here.
Though he knew he was too young and too unstable for this. An alcoholic and suffering from PTSD. He was out of his depth for any of this. And now he was having second thoughts about it, but at least he had a combat class next. Time to hit things. That always helped to clear his head of the unnecessary noise.
A.N. As always, thanks for reading and supporting me, so I can continue writing without any concerns, and if you want more, up to seven more chapters, you can support me on pa treon. com \ ironwolf852.